It’s time for another installment in our serial fiction story. If you’re lost, want to catch up, or want to refresh your memory, the archive is here.

When Henry Makepeace woke up, he decided that Gregory would probably be able to solve the mystery of the box, since he had been working the day before, and it was entirely possible that he had gone inside for something and knocked it over. This didn’t solve the more puzzling issue of why the box was empty, and he almost called Jennifer, but she had been quite firm about never wanting to hear from him again, so he suspected that it might be more trouble than it was worth. These things had a way of working themselves out.

Instead, he decided to lie in wait for the mailman, because he couldn’t work until he got that package of photographs, so he took a cup of oolong and a cookbook out to the porch and began leafing through it. He was supposed to host the book club on Thursday, and had a vague idea of making some sort of snacks. The last book club meeting had been hosted by Eduardo, a local chef, and Henry had been rather pleased by the delicate finger food which had been provided. While he might not be the equal of a chef, Henry certainly knew how to offer hospitality.

When Gregory arrived, Henry was deep into a rather complex but intriguing recipe for chocolate zabaglione trifle, and the mailman was still nowhere to be seen. Gregory brought up the box on his own, asking what was inside and explaining that it had still been sealed and on the table when he popped into the house before he left to wash his hands in the kitchen.

“By the way,” Henry said, “that new plant by the garage? What is it? It looks like some kind of vine?”

Gregory stared blankly back, and Henry felt a little frisson of uneasiness, although he couldn’t quite put his finger on why. He had definitely seen the plant the night before, with delicate curled tendrils waving gently in the breeze. And he had noticed that it was in a lightweight pot, as though it had just come from the nursery.

“It’s, ah, well, maybe I’m mistaken. Let me show you,” Henry said, bookmarking the recipe and walking out to the garage. Gregory still looked deeply confused, and muttered something about a flat of lobelia, but when the two arrived at the garage, the plant was gone, although a moist circular mark on the concrete suggested that something in a pot had certainly been there recently.

“This is quite peculiar,” Henry said. “It was right here, last night, coming home from the party.”

Gregory looked curious, but could offer no explanation, and Henry began to feel rather perturbed. As the two stared blankly at the garage, a police car rolled up, with Officer Carlisle at the wheel and another, older officer beside him, with the name “Baker” on his badge.

“Ah,” Henry said, somewhat surprised. “Good morning, Officer Carlisle. Come by to ask some questions, have you?”

Officer Baker narrowed his eyes at Henry, while Officer Carlisle said “yes, actually, we have. But not about the, ah, incident yesterday. We were wondering if you noticed anything unusual last night?”

Henry Makepeace wondered if a mysterious empty box and a disappearing vine counted as “unusual,” but he decided that it probably didn’t, and he explained that he had come home late and a bit inebriated, and hadn’t noticed anything before going to bed. Gregory, who happened to live down the street, added that he hadn’t seen anything peculiar either, although the neighborhood racoons had been at the garbage cans again during the night.

“Dragged the wife’s, ah, personal stuff right out of the cans into the alley,” he said. “Not the kind of thing I like to deal with early in the morning, you know?”

The policemen nodded politely, and there was a long and pregnant pause.

“Well, if you remember anything,” Officer Baker said, “be sure and let us know.”

“Sure thing,” Henry said with a smile. “What’s all the fuss about, anyhow?”

The policemen muttered something about routine investigations and drove on, and Gregory said he had better get back to trimming the hedges, while Henry realized that he should probably not attempt the zabaglione at this stage, since the book club was only a day away, and he didn’t want a complete failure on his hands. He would probably be better off sticking to something nice and sensible, like stuffed artichokes and perhaps a cheese platter. And fruit, good fresh fruit. Perhaps he could get a batch of baguettes done, too, if he finished reviewing the photos in time, and mixed cupcakes would make an adequate dessert offering. Or perhaps chocolate dipped cream cheese ice box cookies. Or maybe both. He wondered how many people would be turning up at the book club meeting, and decided that if there were going to be more than 15, he could make the cookies and the cupcakes.

When Henry Makepeace returned to the porch, he wearily noted that a yellow slip was sticking out of the mailbox, and that the mysterious mailman was nowhere in sight. There was also a letter from the water reclamation board, announcing that an unknown source of contamination appeared to be causing problems at the reservoir, and until they figured out the source, he should probably boil water before consuming it, just in case.

Unknown source of contamination, indeed, thought Henry Makepeace. There’s only one major company here, and dollars to doughnuts, I’ll bet it’s them.

With that cheerful thought, Henry returned to his cookbook, sighing happily as he encountered not one but four recipes for stuffed artichokes, and he wondered if perhaps he should make two different versions, but then of course there was the issue of which ones. Gregory hummed away at the hedge, and presently the phone rang, drawing Henry inside to speak with someone at Halycon Insurance, who wanted to know if the photos had arrived yet. Henry didn’t want to explain his problems with the mailman, so he simply said that they hadn’t arrived, and asked if perhaps another carrier could be used for important packages. He also agreed he would travel to the firm’s hangar in Minneapolis next week to inspect a fire-damaged plane, which the owner claimed had spontaneously caught fire during a routine flight. Given that the plane belonged to a company which was experiencing financial difficulties, Henry Makepeace had his doubts about the “spontaneous” part, although he certainly didn’t doubt the “caught fire” part, since the plane had been on the national news two nights ago. Henry Makepeace wondered if he could get a ride to the airport with the traveling nurse from the book club, who always seemed to be going back and forth between the city and their small town, and made a note to ask her, bringing the notepad with him to the porch with the intent of writing a grocery list.

When Henry Makepeace arrived outside, he was surprised to see a large assortment of cars, including several news vans. Gregory was standing at the gate, glowering at a reporter who threatened the ornamental borders the community had collectively planted along the outer edges of the sidewalk, and Henry walked over to see what was going on.

The reporter was a high-strung man in his early 30s, who looked deeply displeased to be where he was, and even more displeased by the glaring Gregory. A flurry of reporters had descended upon the street, actually, trailed by sound technicians, camera men, and journalists with tape recorders and note pads. Any neighbors who were home peered out from their windows, or walked into their yards to get a better idea of what was happening, and Henry Makepeace noticed Stella, his neighbor, in her yard.

Henry and Gregory walked over to Stella and surveyed the pandemonium which was reigning in their sleepy street.

“What in the heck,” said Gregory, “is going on here?”

“Didn’t you hear? It’s George MacInroe,” Stella replied. “He’s gone missing.”